Turn Off the Lights
by tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Simon can taste the epiphany at the back of his tongue, the knowledge is his head shifting into place until he can almost see the periphery of what he wants, what he's been looking for and hunting with single-minded persistence for the last seven years." All Blackquill needs is a little more time.


Simon is so close.

He can taste the epiphany at the back of his tongue, the knowledge is his head shifting into place until he can almost see the periphery of what he wants, what he's been looking for and hunting with single-minded persistence for the last seven years. When he shuts his eyes he can see the information he's collecting floating together, links starting to form from the intuition of experience rather than the reality of evidence. All he needs is _time_, a week or a day or even a few _hours_ of focused effort to let his mind work through the tangle of assumptions and coincidences to get down to the reality of the connections. All he has left is a night, seven years of work condensing around him to these last hours of existence, with salvation on one hand and oblivion on the other. The threat of death doesn't frighten him - this has never been a sure bet, he had to come to terms with the possibility of failure years ago. But Simon _is_ scared, he can feel his body trembling with raw terror that he can't bring himself to analyze too closely.

He's never been afraid of the truth before.

The door to his cell squeaks when it opens, like it has every day of the last seven years. Simon looks up from the papers he's spread out over his desk, the information he's been trying to not think about even as he stares at it. Fulbright looks like he always does, his smile as easy and wide as it always is, his jacket pristine and perfect across his shoulders, familiar and friendly, and Simon's exhale feels like relief. At least he still has this, at least that growing suspicion is still too unformed to yet cast a shadow over the detective's sunshine.

"How are you doing, Prosecutor Blackquill?" His voice fills the small space as thoroughly as his presence fills Simon's attention, offers the protection of a wall from the prosecutor's thoughts.

"As well as can be expected, under the circumstances," Simon says, the words twisting dark and cynical on his tongue until even the shine in Fulbright's eyes flickers.

"Tomorrow," the detective starts. He reaches up to pull his sunglasses off, toys with the frames while he looks down at his hands. Simon can see his mouth shaping into a pout, can imagine the liquid of tears climbing into his golden eyes.

He shoves back from his desk so hard his chair hits the floor, reaches to crumple the front of the perfectly pure jacket in his fist and drag Fulbright in towards him. The glasses hit the floor, the detective's head comes up so Simon just has time to see the surprise in his face before his mouth hits the other's.

Fulbright doesn't complain, follows the prosecutor's lead as soon as he sees the direction they're going; his hands come down on Simon's shoulders, hold him steady to the reality he still believes, still knows to be true. He only speaks once, when Simon starts backing up towards the bed and dragging the other man with him.

"Simon," and the name shivers in his throat, quivers in a way Simon's never heard before from the detective. "Are you sure? You were working, tonight's the last night, if you're close -"

"Yes," Simon says, affirmation and agreement tangling together on his lips. "Tonight's the last night." It is, one way or another.

Fulbright nods and doesn't speak again. His face is familiar, comfortable, soothing, and if Simon shuts his eyes he can stop looking for the edges he suspects are there, the shadows of lies lurking behind the optimistic eyes. In the dark behind his eyelids he shoves away the suspicions, loses his train of thought in the warmth of Fulbright's skin under his hands and Fulbright's fingers against the angle of his hip. He's allowed this much selfishness, he decides, and it's worth it for this last night of trust.


End file.
